


Keep Me Warm

by celeste9



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 02:40:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celeste9/pseuds/celeste9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Natasha end up stuck in an Austrian safehouse when their evac is delayed due to inclement weather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Me Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Trope Bingo, 'snowed in'. You may read into the relationship(s) what you will!

“It’s still fucking snowing,” Clint said, mostly to himself, as he peered through the window into the blinding whiteness of the blizzard. Their evac from Austria had been postponed on account of the weather and as a result, he and Natasha were stuck in the safehouse until further notice.

“I have complete faith that you can manage to entertain yourselves for the time being. Without resorting to property damage,” Coulson had said.

“That was one time!” Clint had protested. The thing had been incredibly ugly, too. He’d done SHIELD a favor.

“I’ll be in touch,” had been Coulson’s only response, the eye rolling nearly audible.

It wasn’t completely terrible - the cabin was warm and well-stocked and the mission had been a success. Still, Clint was getting a little antsy. He didn’t like being holed up, no matter where it was, unable to so much as walk through the front door.

He literally couldn’t walk through the front door. There was a snowdrift blocking it shut.

“Have some wine,” Natasha advised, handing him a glass. “You look like you’re about to go through the wall.”

“There’s wine?” Clint asked. He took a sip. Damn good wine, too.

“It was in the cellar. I decided not to question it.”

“Works for me.”

Natasha set down her glass and bent over to stoke the fire. Clint took a second to appreciate the view.

“Eyes off my ass, Barton,” Natasha said, familiar and obligatory, not even glancing to him.

Clint sprawled out on the couch, stretching his arm along the back and sipping his wine. “How much longer do you think we’ll have to stay here?”

Straightening up, Natasha shrugged her shoulders in a smooth, elegant motion and then sat next to him. She curled her feet up underneath herself. “Could be a couple of days, maybe less. Depends on how bad the storm is.”

Clint sighed. “It’s fine for _you.”_

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“You know, you’re…” Clint gestured to her, sweeping his hand vaguely up and down. “Russian. You’re probably immune to cold. This is like nothing to you. But I’m gonna be honest, my nose is tingling. I could get frostbite. No one wants that; it would be a tragedy. Waste of a perfectly serviceable face. Girls would cry.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Would you like to switch places, you giant baby? The fire’s warm. You’re not going to get frostbite.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know everything.”

“Oh, don’t do that. You sound like Coulson and it’s frightening.”

“Drink your wine. It’ll warm you up.”

“That’s not actually true, it--” Clint stopped because he knew that look. Natasha was scary, okay. He drained the rest of his wine. He did _feel_ warmer, at least. Brandy would’ve been better, though.

Without a word, Natasha stood up and left. Clint watched her, thinking that he couldn’t possibly have annoyed her into running off already. Natasha was made of sterner stuff than that.

Then after a minute, she reappeared, carrying a thick quilt, which she tossed over to Clint. She sat back down, still not saying anything.

Clint wrapped himself in the blanket, tucking it underneath his chin. “I’d be warmer if you cuddled with me.”

Natasha remained unmoved because clearly she had no heart. “I only cuddle when there is a legitimate threat of hypothermia.”

“Belfast,” Clint said, nodding. “Good times.”

“When we were getting shot at or when we had to jump in the River Lagan?”

Clint smiled in reminiscence. Natasha could say what she wanted but she enjoyed the high from an intense mission the same as he did. “Most aggressive naked cuddling I’ve ever been a part of.”

“Maybe you’ve been doing it wrong.”

“Nat, I know your childhood was different from most people’s childhoods, but cuddling is usually not supposed to be aggressive,” Clint said, though he could see the glimmer of humor in Natasha’s eyes.

“I didn’t realize you were such an expert on it. Something you’d like to share with the class?”

Clint averted his eyes. So what if he enjoyed a good cuddle? His childhood hadn’t been exactly normal, either, and it was nice to be held every once in a while, now that he could be. With someone he trusted. Which, admittedly, wasn’t very many people at all.

He didn’t cuddle often at all, to be honest.

“I’m a fantastic cuddler,” Clint said, lifting the blanket up enticingly and wiggling his eyebrows. “Don’t you want to see for yourself? When we’re not slowly becoming a couple of icicles?”

“Not particularly,” Natasha said, but she edged closer to him anyway, letting Clint tuck the quilt around her. He didn’t try to put his arm around her or anything, just let her lean faintly into his side and listened to the soft, even sound of her breaths.

Oh, yeah. He could get used to this.

-

In the morning, Clint awoke with Natasha curled into his side, her red hair tickling his chin as her head rested on his chest. So much for big bad Russian assassin superspies not liking to cuddle, he thought to himself with a grin.

His amusement was short-lived, however, as he was interrupted by the phone ringing. At least they were still getting service. Natasha was alert immediately, watching Clint as he answered the phone.

“I never thought I’d say this to you, Coulson, but your timing sucks,” Clint said by way of greeting. “Tasha was about to let me get to third base.” He winced as Natasha smacked the back of his head.

“Two things, Agent Barton,” came Coulson’s familiar mild voice. “One, judging by the girlish sound you just made, I think Agent Romanoff objects to that statement. Two, I never want to hear that combination of words from you ever again.”

“I make no promises, sir.”

“And I make no promises that R&D will ever receive those specs you sent them.”

“Sir,” Clint protested, dismayed. “You dirty, underhand bastard. It was you who said we should keep ourselves entertained in the first place.”

“Yes, with the assumption I would never hear about it. What happens in Austria…”

“…Makes it into a _very_ detailed mission report especially for you? We just didn’t want you to feel left out. We would’ve invited you but you’re kind of in the wrong country at the moment.”

“You are entirely too convinced of your own appeal,” Coulson said as Natasha sneaked the phone out of Clint’s grasp.

“Sir, I’d like to leave the safehouse sometime this month and Barton’s too chatty,” she said, following up her theft of the phone by tugging the quilt over to herself and leaving Clint’s toes bare in the chilly air. Probably he should have put some socks on, but he hated wearing socks when his feet weren’t in shoes. The fire had died out during the night.

Clint retaliated by sticking his feet in Natasha’s lap. Natasha calmly shoved them off, never once looking at Clint, never losing a beat in her conversation with Coulson. Clint edged into her field of vision to flip her off, to which Natasha merely raised an eyebrow, as if any further response would have been beneath her.

He might have been stuck in a safehouse in Austria, walled in by snow, but somehow Clint felt completely at home.

**_End_ **


End file.
